


Cowritten

by Val Mora (valmora)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Futurefic, Languages and Linguistics, M/M, faintly au, fictionalization, happy endings, hints of s9 events but no major spoilers, writing as therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/pseuds/Val%20Mora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Though Cassiel had heard of David Sharps before they received their orders, it had only been in the context of his role as Michael-upon-Earth.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Castiel writes, and sometimes digresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cowritten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peridium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peridium/gifts).



_Though Cassiel had heard of David Sharps before they received their orders, it had only been in the context of his role as Michael-upon-Earth, champion of the forces of Light in the coming war between Heaven and Hell, which would be waged in parallel upon Earth._

_They had expected David to wear a military uniform, for he was a soldier as all angels were soldiers; but they had not expected him to be beautiful, in the dust and blood of Afghanistan._

 

Castiel is sixty thousand words into a pseudo-memoir. It feels sacrilegious to transform the events of the Winchester Gospels into a fictional story focused around himself, but Dean had been charmed and approving when Castiel confessed to it, so it continues.

Charlie calls it a romance. It probably is.

He has reached the analogue of the moment when Dean prayed to him in the hospital above Sam's bed. David is begging for Cassiel's aid in healing one of his squad members, who left Afghanistan with him and joined him in their quest to save civilians from the supernatural.

(David Sharps had convinced himself that the supernatural did not exist, despite a childhood filled with it; his experiences in Afghanistan convinced him of its reality.)

Cassiel has had their power torn from them and is no more than human, as Castiel was, and writing it is painful, though it is easier to describe than other parts of the story. The words for how Dean and David look to angels do not exist in human languages, which cannot sense degrees of virtue just by looking at a soul. Synaesthesia also fails, so Castiel has taken to using slightly-altered Enochian symbols and explaining their literal meaning, where possible, in footnotes or an index. Without their grace, Cassiel is limited to human senses, for which there are words.

Cassiel thinks of David often, wanting to see him, to be near him.

Castiel knows, now, that Dean wanted to see him too. It's a relief to be certain, to have the words on the page, saying that Cassiel's affections are returned, though neither David nor Cassiel has admitted this to anyone.

 

Cassiel receives aid from a woman who gives them a place to stay, who stitches their wounds, who kisses them briefly.

Unlike reality, Cassiel doesn't sleep with her. Instead Cassiel sleeps in her guest bedroom.

Castiel writes such could-have-beens often. He takes them out afterwards, but saves them in a separate file. Dean likes to see them. 

In this one, Cassiel declines her advances by saying, _I'm promised to another,_ though their hands are bare of tokens of romance. It works. Cassiel is alone in the bed, and lonely, missing David and trembling with the loss of their grace, and half-sleeping dreams of David desert-warm, still in his fatigues though he hasn't worn them in years, saying _Cass why would you - Cass I don't care come back, come back to me, I need you._

_David took their face between his hands and drew them up from the ground to stand in front of him. His hands were rough with callous but gentle against their skin, and he pressed a kiss to their forehead, to the corners of their eyes._

_"Cass," they imagined him saying, "Come back to me; I love you," and then his mouth was upon theirs, warm and wanting, and they kissed him back a thousand times before they realized their newly-human body was aroused._

_It was strange. This body had been aroused before, but when they still had grace it had been easily ignored. This was a slow insistent warmth from between their legs._

_From Heaven they had seen David masturbate, so they touched themselves, imagining alternately that it was his flesh they pleasured, or that it was his hand upon them, and when they found their release, face pressed into the pillow, they imagined it to be his shoulder. That they heard him murmur, "Cass, it's okay, ssh, I got you," and his lips brushed their forehead, their mouth._

 

Castiel pulls his hands away from the keyboard. He has found it difficult to write the more intimate almost-confessions. Dean's support helps.

He picks up the laptop and takes it into the kitchen, where Dean is attempting peach pie.

"How's it going?" Dean asks. His hands are full of pie crust as he kneads, the peaches resting fresh on the counter, still whole, unblemished.

"I digressed again." Castiel sets the laptop on the counter, far from where the flour-dust is, and watches Dean's face as he reads: first attention, then recognition, then a quiet grief.

"Cas," he says, setting the dough back in the bowl and wrapping one arm around Castiel's shoulders, kissing him. His mouth is sweet - he must have eaten one of the peaches already - and Castiel holds him in return, sliding open palms down his back.

"Dean," he murmurs, when they part so Dean can breathe, "Please."

"Yeah." They have been here before. When he wrote the scene of Cassiel and David in an alleyway, David threatening to take up his mantle as Michael-upon-Earth, and Cassiel taking out their frustration on him in violence, it ended in sex: Cassiel kissing David possessive and furious, pushing David half-willing to his knees and ordering him into sexual service. Troubled, Castiel had brought that passage to Dean, who had read it three times and clambered into Castiel's lap, thrusting against his hip and laughing half-rueful _You probably should've - would've saved us a lot of trouble._

"Let me just wash my hands," Dean continues, moving to the sink.

Castiel watches him. In Enochian, the word for how he seems now is rendered by some form of the root _graf-fam-khef_ , expressing both high virtue and simplicity. Castiel always has to be careful not to overuse its forms in describing David (in describing Dean), because it's always true.

When Dean has finished, he takes Castiel's hand, and they go together to their bedroom, closing the door behind them to shut out the world. The bed has two pillows, because Castiel likes to lie beside him while he sleeps, and is just slightly too narrow, so that Dean can always find him in the night.

"What're you thinking?"

"I want to know you're here."

"I'm here." Dean's hands cradling his face smell of butter and flour still, and his soul is close to some word of _gisg-graf-jed_ , nearly overwhelming. "C'mon." He draws Castiel to the bed, and they strip their clothes until Castiel is lying naked atop Dean's nakedness, pressed to his skin.

Dean kisses the corner of his mouth. "See? You got me. Not going anywhere."

"No," Castiel agrees. Dean's penis is still mostly soft. Castiel would like to perform oral sex on him but that would mean no longer holding Dean down with his own weight, no longer being sure.

Dean pets at his hair, as though understanding Castiel's dilemma, and begins to hum, many octaves lower than true Enochian and far slower, the opening of _My beloved wears van-jed-Hon_. It's one of the few poems in Enochian that isn't worship.

It goes:  
 _My beloved wears van-jed-Hon_  
 _Fierce yet forgiving their faces_  
 _Each feather proper_  
 _And their blade true_  
 _Honor in our Father's name._

Dean has no idea what _van-jed-Hon_ refers to; it requires senses he doesn't have. But the fact that he would learn the song, or at least its opening notes, just for Castiel -

He kisses Dean, pressing him down into the mattress that remembers Dean's body, lacing their fingers together and dragging Dean's arms up to grasp the headboard that Dean made for them when Castiel found he preferred something to hold onto, and something to bind Dean to.

Dean doesn't let go of his hands, gripping him back. Castiel whimpers into his mouth and grinds down against him, feeling Dean's slow hardening, his desire. Castiel would call it something from the line of _jed-drukh-fam_ , but Dean is too beloved for the dirt of that root.

Dean pulls away from his mouth, panting for air. "Yeah," he says, as Castiel pushes against him, "Yeah, c'mon."

Castiel bites his neck. Dean whimpers, jerking against him, his fingers tightening in their grasp.

"I wrought you out of dust," Castiel says into Dean's throat, "and you made my grace again from starlight, and we will not be parted." 

Dean curls his legs around Castiel, seeking leverage to thrust against him. "Yeah," he gasps, "good, kiss me, c'mon," so Castiel does.

They move together, close with long practice. Castiel enjoys keeping Dean to a slower pace than Dean himself prefers, one that is all sensation; Dean calls it _turtle sex_ but he orgasms more quickly with it.

Dean pants against his mouth, grunting faintly when his lungs compress on particularly hard thrusts. Castiel licks at his lips, his throat, the corner of his jaw, enjoying the growing slickness of their bodies together.

"You want me to - hold the headboard?" Dean asks, between heavy breaths, but Castiel shakes his head.

"I'm not letting you go."

"Oh, God," Dean whimpers, and comes. Castiel continues to thrust against him through it, close but not ready yet.

"I got an idea," Dean says, once his breath is back. He draws his hand down, not letting go of Castiel, towards their hips. He lets go of Castiel only for a moment, to wrap Castiel's hand around his own erection, and then places his hand over that, beginning to stroke. His hand is pressing Castiel's tight, tighter than Castiel would usually hold himself, but it's good, a reminder that Dean is with him.

"C'mon," Dean murmurs, "you got this, I'm right here, not going anywhere, don't want to go anywhere," and he is saying other things but they don't matter over the pleasure of Castiel's orgasm.

Dean is still there, still clasping his hands, though less tightly now that the urgency is passed.

"I love you," Castiel breathes against his mouth, and Dean grins.

"I know," he says, and kisses him.


End file.
